


under the mask

by gaytimetraveller



Category: Persona 2
Genre: Angst, i guess?, idk i had a real emotion today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytimetraveller/pseuds/gaytimetraveller
Summary: Joker grants wishes, Joker receives calls (not always pleasant), Joker despairs.





	under the mask

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to i thought about jun kurosu today and cried aka every day of my life

Joker granted wishes. They often granted wishes he didn’t necessarily agree with, but it only seemed to be a minor downside of the job, they were helping people weren’t they? Helping someone achieve their dreams couldn’t have too bad of an outcome, wishes and dreams were good things, ideals helped people, they helped everyone. An ideal world could only be one of good, couldn’t it? Vaguely they wondered if anyone had tried to achieve their ideal world before, and figured not, as the world was still far from perfect. They knew that from life experience.

One day, Joker received a call, and thought it would’ve been one of those high schoolers, the ones who often called after doubting the authenticity of the circle and the calling card. It wasn’t.

Joker despaired.

They fought against the rising nausea, an overwhelming wave of emotion, conflicting and contradictory and it _hurt_. Forcing their face into a smile, already forgetting the eternal smile twisted into that mask, they lifted an a hopefully not visibly trembling hand. “What is your dream?” an even voice (voices? Joker’s voice was a myriad, not just one) was a struggle. Joker desired no more than to run and cry, to wrap hands around her neck, to apologize, to screech, to confess everything and search for acceptance, to crawl out of their own skin. It was all too much, too strong, too all at once.

These days they’d only been feeling too strongly or not at all. They felt like his life had been all wallflowers and weeping willows. Just when they thought maybe things had been looking up for once, just maybe, it seemed the only luck they had was bad, nearly the only faith they had these days was in his own misfortune. Misfortune and hatred. Misfortune and misery. Misery, melancholia, malice.

“I want to be beautiful, forever, the way I used to be, at least fifteen years ago, maybe twenty?” she said, and Joker only wished to grant her the opposite. Internally, Joker scolded for that, still craving acceptance somewhere deep down.

They granted her wish, and grimaced as they felt that nudging, that he had to hire her as more than the usual masks. So they brought forth a mask, asked if she would accept an offer from the wheel of fate itself, and the stars shone in her eyes as she said yes. The title of a queen was all she could wish for. Joker felt sick. Yet to her, Joker was a blank mask, a jester who had brought her fortune and new opportunities. Joker wished she could feel as uneasy as they (and in time, she would).

Joker disappeared again, back to the cold confines of Caracol. It felt like the view of her smirk as she’d seen herself in the mirror was burned behind his eyes. They felt like throwing up. They felt too much, somewhere in there. They wished he could dig deep and pull it all out, whatever all that was. It all hurt too much, heartbeat too fast in their hollow-feeling chest, and they wished they could rip that out too. They could already feel the start of the hysterical sobbing that had become too common under the mask, but no one could see under the mask, it was a protection (it was a burden, one they were no longer sure they wished to bear).

At that thought, it all screeched to a halt, it seems Joker wasn’t supposed to feel all that so strongly after all, as it was suddenly all dragged away, cut off. It really did feel cut off, roughly, with only the sharpest and most precise of scissors. Yet somehow it felt tighter, like the tightening of loose strings on a puppet. It was unpleasant. The phantom feeling of a hand on their shoulder made them flinch, and they stood up, yet couldn’t remember deciding to stand up, it felt mechanical.

As they walked down the hall, stiff as an automaton, their thoughts only moments ago seemed distant. Distant like a voice in the distance, a light in the fog, muddled, faint. There was work to be done, no time to sit on the floor and wail, there were thieves to catch, masks to set to work.

Under the mask, they smiled. It felt twisted. Automated. They could not figure out why. They were doing the right thing after all, there was no reason to feel so terrible, even after an unpleasant run-in. Halfway there tears still stayed behind their eyes. They felt restricted in the oddest of ways. An uncanny calm had settled over them. It felt off.

Suddenly, they feared that there was something they had forgotten (as they often did, but those thoughts were startlingly quick to leave), that their world was suddenly going to come crashing down when they remembered.

And one day, it did.


End file.
